


Quietly Painted

by orphan_account



Category: Naruto
Genre: Additional Tags to Be Added, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Kankuro does't let himself deal, Kankuro is my baby, M/M, Mpreg, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Updates will be unpredictable, because, just freaking because, just read and find out, s'not probably what yur thinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 19:43:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4449767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> ....It’s normal. That’s what he told himself. People get hurt like that and it’s not okay, but it’s common enough to be normal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's fics like these I am wary of. So, in all my great wisdom, I'm gonna crack at it. I love Kankuro (i swear) and I want to get in deep.
> 
> Please, some things in here are considered 'triggers' that everyone knows about, but some have their own that can randomly hurt them at unexpected times- PLEASE, don't hurt yourself. I don't want that. Luv u crazy peeps.
> 
> BTW: /this means he's talking to himself/

Thick streams gushed from the wooden slots of the puppet, soaking the grass a new color. Kunai dotted the surrounding trees and dirt, deeply puncturing the once common scenery. Scattered about in messy heaps lay the fallen, those too cocky to see the danger in glorified war dolls and blue strings. The leftovers of a sloppily coordinated assault stained the setting a gory kind of abstract, and in the middle of it all lie one stubborn fool. He refused to be dead. Faces, laughing and somber alike, stuck steadfast in the clouded jumble of his mind. They said things without words, meant much to him without needing reasons. They encouraged his perseverance and for the moment were all the incentive he required to fight against the dregs of unconsciousness. He struggled to read their lips, to understand the urgency in their eyes.

For all their warnings they could not get him to notice the perfectly healthy one he’d missed.  
____________

Kankuro would laugh with the guards at the gates of Sunagakure the times he came home. Their standing joke was that he often left in search of sand bunnies and always returned after being grotesquely outclassed by the cute rodents. He would shrug and say something nonchalant like, ‘They pled a good case, what can I say?’ The men then said something equally as casual with friendly sympathy, ‘What can one say in the face of such adversity?’, and they’d watch each other with a false intensity until one broke it with a burst of mirth. Kankuro never helped it. They were funny in their own way that they cared, and he would laugh along until his sides busted or one of the boneheads let him through.

This time he hardly acknowledged them long enough to nod a curt greeting and ask to be let through. It was uncharacteristic, and procedure lead them to relieve the master of his puppets and supplies. When they asked him to remove his clothes the gritted reply they received was enough to confirm his identity. No one’s cursing flowed quite as freely off their tongues like second nature than Kankuro. A few sincere apologies and manly back slaps latter and he was cleared for entry. Just before the order to open the gate was given one of the men stopped him with a concerned frown.

“Hey, Kuro,” a warm hand rested lightly on the sand shinobi’s shoulder, “you okay?”

The younger man tensed for a second before turning to smile at his friends, “Yeah... Please open up, I’m tired and it’s been an absolute shit day.”

“Sure thing! Hey, rest up for us will you? If you keep limping like that the whole village is gonna have to pitch in to hire a bunny extermination squad.”

It was said in all good fun, just friendly banter, so Kankuro chose to walk away with his back to them, hiding the emotions frozen on his painted face.  
____________

The life of a shinobi isn’t glamorous, isn’t easy. In fact, things get crazy fucked up on a regular basis. Drawers and desks- hell, they had whole rooms dedicated to the dead end cases of missions that whole teams of highly trained ninja had embarked on, never to be seen again. The hard fact is (backed up by some nasty statistics) men, women- people –risk becoming injured, permanently maimed, and psychologically compromised every moment of every day that there is another person in need of a ninja’s expertise. It’s not without pain to watch people you know hurt, or ignited in honor for their service on the burial pyre. 

It’s normal. That’s what he told himself. People get hurt like that and it’s not okay, but it’s common enough to be normal. 

Kankuro stared at his bare form in the yellow lighting of his dull room, hating what he saw. The puppet master looked worse than ever, and just to spite him, the nerves routed through his system were only too keen on alerting him to how well they still functioned with angry bursts of raw sensation; over a dozen wounds and aches vying loudly for his attention. He chose to ignore the loudest for just a while longer, sick for what he might see. 

/It happens/, he snarls, /get over yourself./ 

The paleness of his skin looked sickly and distasteful. Kankuro rejected the idea that it might just be what his eyes wanted to see, accepting that he actually resembled a rickety corpse. That he appeared used and worn because he was. His arms moved as if weighted down, his hands shaking as they searched every patch of skin above his waist. Any farther and he would-

/Get fixed, and get dressed. Then I can go to bed and never wake up./

Scrapes and burns along his arms and torso were expected and thoughtlessly tended to. Bruises and minor cuts could be dressed and covered simply enough with clothing. His late pair lay in the wicker hamper to the side of his bed, the sticky tatters wrapped up in a dirty blanket to conceal the evidence from anyone who might stop by to welcome him home. 

One particular gash in his left side would require a medical ninja, but wasn’t fatal right that second. He’d handle it after…. after he handed in his papers.

/Gaara! Gaara needs my report. He’ll see. He’ll know./ 

He felt as though his insides were made of hot air, like they’d been forcefully pulled from his navel and replaced with dry hollowness. Thinking about the dispassionate glares his little brother was known for turning animated with pity or disgust brought acid into his throat and pin prickled tremors throughout the rest of him. Gaara could come across as soulless at times, but for him to see what Kankuro was like now…

/Like fucking hell!/

Angered by his weakness and for allowing this to happen to him, Kankuro moved too hastily. The third wild step to his dresser brought him to his knees in a shock of pain, his reaction belated by raging emotions. He clamped his jaw hard to keep from crying out. This, this was nothing. He’d felt worse.

Like that morning.

/Suck it up you whiney bitch. The mission’s not over until you report. It’s not that bad, just look./

Kankuro stopped breathing. And looked down.

/Oh, god. Oh, my god./

Feelings the overwhelmed man wasn’t equipped to contain seared liquid trails down his cheeks, blurring in with the smudges of purple paint that’d been disfigured when his head was held down and smashed against the rough ground.

/H-how do you fix that!? How can you fix that!?/

Kankuro cried into a clenched fist, desperately wanting to un-see. 

/Oh, god. Help me!/  
____________

Mana was awoken by a soft put repetitive tapping on the old wood of her business’ back door. Wide awake in an instant there was a small, curved blade in her aged hand. The odds of her needing it were slim. Most who came seeking her in the night sought delicate assistance, company, or a wise ear, but it is better to be a wary chicken out of habit than a dead one. 

Something about the rhythm of the hesitant knocking stirred motherly fondness in her chest. Only one doll demon would call for her like that. Calmly, Mana held the knife in a steady grip and unbolted the door with the other.

The soft light of the moon highlighted the slumped silhouette in her doorway, marking the familiar shape, and leaving no doubt as to who her surprise guest was.

“Kuro, child, what brings you here?” Mana’s smile as tender as her caring voice.

The man gasped, shining wetness flowing freely from his haunted face to pool in tiny puddles at his feet. His eyes met hers and it shocked her that she hadn’t noticed it at first.

“Kuro?”

“Gaara and Temari! M-Mana, I’m scared- I-I’m sorry.” 

The old woman took the broken one into her arms, letting him mess her night clothes in favor of giving him comfort. The knife was forgotten on the back steps to make room for one more secret under Mana’s pillow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kankuro gets hugs as needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been so long. To the two people I know are reading this because they left comments, I am sorry for the thousand years of silence.

Kankuro woke to the pleasant touch of someone combing their fingers through his mess of hair. It was warm where he lay and the softness of clean sheets felt like a forbidden dream against his skin. Someone, most likely the same person massaging his scalp, was humming the soothing melody of a lullaby every child of the sand knew. The experience and care in their tune made Kankuro want to smile and say something smart, but only for a moment. For now he would relax. 

Just relax right here in this warmth, under this care.

All too soon things rushed to come together and he remembered. Expecting the pain of feeling to return he tensed and the song stopped.

"Kankuro." Blessedly, there wasn't a hint of pity in her voice.

He wished to go back to the calm peace of before, but faking asleep just wasn't his style. Besides she totally knew anyway.

"Mana, anyone ever tell you, you are the most beautiful creature to have ever graced their bed?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact," she was laughing (he'd made her laugh), "but that was well over thirty years ago, and you are the one in MY bed."

His eyes cracked open to peer up at her through the shadow of his lashes, "Just lucky I guess."

"Oh, Kuro."

/Here it comes.../

"I have a fresh pair of clothes for you, one of those ghastly getups you like to trapse about in, black too." Mana was an honest to goodness angel. Kankuro could kiss her.

The dip in the matress next to him filled back up with cool air as the old woman stood and stretched the weariness of a long night from her creaky bones. Kankuro watched tiredly as Mana walked to the sole window in the small home and drew back the plain curtain, revealing a dark sky. It was early enough in the morning that the sun had yet to rise.

Mana threw a black clump of cloth at his head, "You should be on your way now, child."

Busying himself with dressing Kankuro hummed noncommentally. He moved stiffly but efficiently, taking note of his hurts while simitaneously ignoring their existance. Thoughts pestering for attention arose with each article of clothing donned and these were ignored as well, for the sooner he was fully clothed the sooner he would have to leave....

He had to report in.

"Here, it's not much, but I had leftovers from last night's supper and you look dreadful," Mana placed something by the bedside.

Kankuro reached for his sole torn shoes, shoving his purple and blue riddled feet into them with little kindness. A low grunt escaped his split lips. 

/Grow up./

"I hope you like mash, Kuro, that's all I eat nowadays. It's not a whole lot, but it's warm. Should put some color back in those cheeks that's not purple."

He had to report in. 

Mission failed. 

His team.... gone.

"Kuro!"

Kankuro froze, his right arm stopped midair where he'd stretched it forward to take up the bowl of food Mana offered, the stoneware vessel now shattered in a porridgey mess at his feet. He stared at his simple fumble, blinking owlishly.

/Fuck./

Arms, deceptively sturdy with unseeming strength were woven under his and about his chest, holding him up. Kankuro felt rather than saw the unsteady trembling of his hands and the bonless ache in his legs. Was he still so weak after a nights rest? The food had slipped right from his fingers. Was he even trying?

Oh..

Mana breathed a long sigh that moved the little hairs of his neck, "Kuro. You can always come back here, tonight even. Be what you have to till then, but here you can let go."

The young man turned in her arms, breathing deeply and settling his ear to her strong heart. 

"Thank you."

They stayed there awhile until the shadow of the sun crept up on them from the open window, and with a peck to the old woman's weathered cheek the sand nin sped out Mana's back door and into a disrupted version of the world he used to know.

 

.....................

 

There were no guards posted outside the Kazekage's office just as there never were any for his personal quarters. It wasn't that the Suna nin were understaffed, no. Gaara simply didn't want or have need of them. He liked it that way.

It gave him a sense of privacy, which wasn't all that much considering it was his office and he had nin reporting in constantly all day everyday. Still he had insisted upon it and (no matter how foolish it seemed to his counselors) those few moments when he knew he was alone granted an air of peaceful quiet that he enjoyed very much.

So the sight of someone waiting for him by his office this morning was a curious sight. From where he was aproaching at the end of the dimly lit hallway the figure looked like a brooding toy soldier. Gaara squinted, the figure was tall, clad in all dark clothing, and something very long protruded from its back like a growth of some sort. It stood still and as he came closer Gaara could just make out the familiar tuft of a dummy's wrapped head when the figure spoke.

"Hey, bro! Looking all spiffy and ready to Kazekage this morning I see."

Gaara's lips curved upwards slightly, "And you're six hours late. Why am I not surprised?"

Kankuro put a hand to his chest, feigning hurt, "By a whole six?! You wouldn't mark up my record for just one teeny little mistake, would you?"

Gaara's smile grew wider (a whole whopping half a centimeter) and he sighed, "For you Kankuro? Yes, yes I would. I expect punctuality from all my shinobi. Even the simple minded ones."

His elder brother's sudden burst of laughter simitaneously startled and warmed a part of Gaara that he wasn't quite used to feeling yet. After the failed coop against the leaf village and his fight with Naruto the lie that defined the sand jinchuuriki's life had been uprooted and discarded. What now grew in its place was foreign, overwhelming, and made him painfully awkward, but the guidance and strength it lent him made it worth tolerating.... most of the time.

"If you are done," Gaara said, motioning to the door of his office, "I would prefer we continue this coversation inside. I believe you have a report to turn in."

Kankuro's smile fell abruptly, his face turning tense and apprehensive, and Gaara couldn't help but wonder if he'd done something to put that expression there. After all, it hadn't been too long ago when Gaara was the main source of his sibling's strife. 

As he pondered the possibility, Gaara took a mental step back to fully asses the condition his brother was in. Kankuro's customary facial paint was mostly faded and smeared in some places. His right cheek was covered in scrapes and sctratches, his bottom lip split open, and the shadows under his dark eyes were closer to gray than purple in color. The strong scent of iron coming from underneath the puppet nin's clothing meant he was still bleeding from whatever wounds he'd sustained in battle. Overall, Kankuro looked rather terrible.

Hoping to ease his brother the young Kazekage softened his posture to appear less threatening, "We'll finish this up quickly and you can get some rest."

Kankuro seemed to relax at this and followed Gaara into the room. The office wasn't as big as the Hokage's in the leaf village and the furniture was sparse as well, consisting of a small desk, two chairs, and a small potted cactus. Still, it was orderly enough, and it certainly fit Gaara. 

Sitting down he gestured to the other chair, "Have a seat and we will begin."

"I'd really rather not." Kankuro responded quickly, eyeing the chair as if it would be better suited as kindling, "I mean- I'll stand if that's okay with you."

Gaara shrugged, not minding one way or the other, "If it will help you report faster I don't care."

"Right," Kankuro chuckled uneasily, "Right. So the feudal lord was successfully escorted back to his estate, but uh.." He paused as if grounding himself to continue, "..um the return back didn't go as smoothly and uh.."

Gaara, his expression passive, nodded for his brother to continue.

"We were ambushed just outside the desert border by some rogue nin and we- well I-," Kankuro shuddered, "they're dead. The rogue, my team, they're all dead."

Gaara opened his mouth to speak then closed it as something in his chest constricted tightly.

An uncomfortable silence filled the room as the Kazekage tried to process what he'd just heard and how quickly his body had reacted in such a strong manner to the news. It didn't help that Kankuro looked as though he expected Gaara to lunge across the desk and go for his throat at any second. Gaara frowned. The phantom pain became more acute the longer he stared at his exhausted and wary brother. 

"You..." Gaara began slowly, "you survived."

"Well I-!" Kankuro began in earnest only for Gaara to interupt him.

"You almost died," pushing back on his chair Gaara stood and moved around the desk until he was face to face with his brother, "but you're here and that's more than can be said of others. I am... glad.. relieved that you survived, Kankuro. I would have missed your presence in my life greatly."

Kankuro's dark eyes widened and he stared at his little brother with an expression so strange and odd for Gaara to see on his face that it bothered the jinchuuriki. Awkwardly, and with no idea how he would be recieved, Gaara opened his arms and shuffled forward to embrace Kankuro in a light hug (as he had seen Naruto do with his friends). 

Kankuro shuddered the second Gaara's arms wrapped around him, but only for a moment before he was returning the comforting gesture whole heartedly, holding his brother as close as his injuries could handle and resting his chin on Gaara's shoulder. 

"You've grown so much." Kankuro said with a quite voice. "I don't know how to catch up."

"I had help from good people," Gaara replied, reading the tremble in his brother's voice as gratitude.

"The best." Kankuro chuckled, holding on a little tighter.

Gaara wasn't familiar with hugs or how long they should last so he was grateful when Kankuro pulled back first. He found that he enjoyed the feelings of affection and care that had passed between him and his sibling during the close physical contact, but not the shared body heat or how hard Kankuro's fingers had pressed into the skin of his back. However, the ache in his chest was gone as if it had never been there to begin with, and if hugs had that kind of power....

..Gaara would have to ponder over the possibilities later.

For now he straightened his clothing and got back to buisness, "Take a report file with you and turn it into the field admissions office after you've had some rest. You look like you could use some time to get collected."

Kankuro bowed, "Thank you my Kazekage."

"Dissmissed."

The door clicked shut quitely and Gaara was alone, left to sift through stacks and stacks of paperwork. Sitting down to start in on his mound of work he ignored every and all thoughts regarding a certain file that would be passing through field admissions and to his desk sometime around noon. For as much as he wanted to believe it wouldn't completely ruin his day, the wet patch of tears left on his shoulder said differently.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a hard time taking it (as unteachable as I am), but I most likely need critical views and 'less flamey' advise.. So please do speak ur piece and maybe I can be helped. I promise I won't jump down your shirt.


End file.
